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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771553">Inflorescence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClassyCorvid/pseuds/TheClassyCorvid'>TheClassyCorvid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The London Garden [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frankenstein - Mary Shelley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:22:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClassyCorvid/pseuds/TheClassyCorvid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All Robert wanted to remember was Victor's smile.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Victor Frankenstein/Robert Walton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The London Garden [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Inflorescence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The minute hand on the clock clicked past 4. Every time it made another round and hit two notches over, it glinted off a blinding star of sunlight that disappeared exactly one second later.</p><p>The house was quiet as a cellar. Finally. Margaret had sashayed off to the market with orders for Robert to tend the children. He’d managed to corral them into their room, where he left them to waterboard a muslin doll with the chipped old teapot Margaret had given them. </p><p>He sank deeper into the scratchy sofa cushion. The sandpaper fabric pulled at his waistcoat, making it bunch tightly beneath his arms. Wearily, he tilted back his book. The spine cracked. The words ran together like traffic and blurred into a sticky gray swamp.</p><p>Well. Agrippa and <em> De occulta </em>couldn’t help being as dense as an unleavened dinner roll, Robert reasoned. There had to be some reason Victor found it compelling, and Robert determined to share his enthusiasm the same way Victor shared his for Virgil.</p><p>Later, though. After he learned Latin.</p><p>His eyelids began to sink. He let the heavy tome slide past his fingers and collapse forward onto his chest. The unexpected weight hitting his breastbone knocked his wind loose with an “oof.” Recovering, he relaxed again. The scent of old library made his nose itch.</p><p>His thoughts wandered aimlessly. Each tick of the clock went off like a bomb in the silent room. He counted them. At 148 he fumbled and gave up. He laced his fingers over the book to keep the pages from crackling with the rise and fall of his chest.</p><p>A floorboard creaked like a dying groan. Robert roused, sleep scattering from his brain in cotton-puff flocks. He bolted upright as if called to attention and blinked blearily. <em> De occulta </em>dropped to his lap.</p><p>Blocky heels clacked over the floor, glaring off sunshine in a rainbow halo from the polished buckles. Robert stared, picking his way through the interrupted dreams. He looked further upward between long blinks. Past shimmery stockings, a floral-patterned waistcoat, up the carnation puff of a cravat and right to Victor’s smile.</p><p>A bucket of Arctic Ocean water couldn’t have woken Robert faster. He clapped his hands to his knees to brace himself as he leaned forward. The book slipped off his lap and smacked to the floor, crumpling pages. His mouth was drier than if he’d packed his face with a couple of cups of Sahara sand.</p><p>“I didn’t know you were up,” he said. Tingles fizzled in his cheeks. “Your clothes.”</p><p>Victor’s smile hitched higher. He looked askance, but caught the hem of his coat and spread it in a half-curtsy. Sunlight deepened the indigo and warmed the golden trim and big brass buttons. Everything fit snug, perfectly tailored.</p><p>“I haven’t seen you in anything finer than my old nightdress for weeks,” Robert said, halfheartedly jabbing at a joke that fell flat. He dug his fingers into his knees, wrinkling his breeches.</p><p>“Your sister said she was tired of seeing me drown in your clothes. She showed me how to cinch the waist and put in a hem. I don’t even have to roll up my sleeves anymore.”</p><p>He held up his hands for proof. The lacy cuffs rested neatly above his knuckles. Robert hadn’t paid attention to his hands since he’d rubbed warmth into them back on the ship. How long had it been since then? They were no longer stiff and white and clumsy; color had seeped back in and they moved with elegance.</p><p>Robert’s throat went tight as if he’d blown the boatswain’s pipe all day. Good old Margaret. She insisted she didn’t like Victor, just the way she’d look with disdain down her nose at a muddy puppy on her carpet but bustle back with a saucer of milk and pork trimmings. She always reminded Robert that he deserved better than Victor. This sentiment never kept her from doting on Victor as though he’d been part of the family all along.</p><p>“You look wonderful,” Robert said past the golf ball lodged behind his tonsils. Wonderful—? He’d pored over poetry for years. Committed countless verses to memory and penned so many tender florid paragraphs in letters. He knew how to string together perfect words like pearls. Somehow, Victor’s smile made him forget everything else. His thoughts blended into a soup of sunshine and cotton candy and dandelion puffs.</p><p>“Are you busy, Captain?”</p><p>Robert realized it was an echo of what he’d heard five seconds ago.</p><p>“Yes. I mean, no. I’m not. It’s quite all right.”</p><p>“Then come with me.” Victor put his forefinger to his lips in a shushing gesture. “Outside.”</p><p>“Outside? But the children—”</p><p>“They’re drowning dolls, Captain. They didn’t even notice when I walked by.”</p><p>Robert’s fingers went heavy. He implored. “The wind’s been harsh. The shutters have been shaking all day. It wouldn’t be good for you.”</p><p>“Don’t fret.” A command that invited no protest. “Lend me your wraps if you wish. I want to see the garden.”</p><p>“Springtime isn’t over,” Robert said. “Shouldn’t we wait for tomorrow? The weather might be kinder.”</p><p>“And what if we choose to wait and tomorrow comes a storm?” Then, pleading: “Please, Captain. I haven’t been out in weeks. I’ve memorized every daisy in the wallpaper.”</p><p>Robert had all the backbone of a ragdoll. He suspected that, if Victor smiled sweetly and asked for a dose of hemlock, he’d somehow cave to the request and realize the blunder only after pouring the cup half full.</p><p>He relented. </p><p>“Only for a little while.” </p><p>He opened the door only when Victor agreed to fasten every button of his coat. Humid wind curled in like a damp ghost, bringing with it the scent of black soil and yesterday’s drizzle.</p><p>Their shoes clattered over the cobblestone path, out of sync. Victor followed Robert so closely that their sleeves brushed. His squinted eyes widened, skipping from one corner to another as he surveyed the Impressionist painting scenery. His steps faltered and slowed. Robert grabbed for him.</p><p>“Are you well, Victor?”</p><p>“Yes.” Victor’s gaze trailed off to the hydrangea shrubs ringing the apple trees. The light filtering through the leaves overhead drifted like white jigsaw pieces over his face. </p><p>Robert had seen the garden a thousand times already. It was etched into his memory like intaglio. He wanted to do the same with Victor, to capture the way sunlight put comets in his gray eyes, and how he breathed sharply in surprise when the chilly wind bit, and how he pressed his hands together, hard, over and over to keep himself tethered to composure.</p><p>Victor halted when the garden loomed in view from around a congregation of willows. Splashes of color swayed in the wind behind the iron-bar fence. Blue and orange butterflies flitted, flashing metallic.</p><p>Victor balked. Robert reflexively caught his elbows to keep him steady.</p><p>“Are you tired?” Alarmed, Robert examined his face. “We ought to go back inside. It won’t be worth catching cold and being bedridden for another month. We—”</p><p>“I’m fine, Walton. I want to stay.”</p><p>Robert hedged. “There’s a bench in the garden. We can sit there if you like.”</p><p>He guided him through the rusted-open gate. Thatches of grass crunched beneath Victor’s shoes. A swallowtail sailed by like a big yellow kite. Victor paused to watch it until it became an oscillating dot in the orchard canopy.</p><p>Robert chewed the side of his tongue, pondering. He roused an uncertain smile and gestured to the flowers lining the pathway at their feet.</p><p>“See here,” he said kindly. “<em>Galanthus</em>. Don’t they smell nice? Meg loves these because they always bloom first.”</p><p>Victor let Robert lead him by the sleeve. He watched the flowers scroll by.</p><p>“Your sister has fine taste.” His eyes traced the drooping flowers that were reminiscent of the last drop of milk clinging to the rim of a bottle. He bent forward, reaching out gingerly, then stopped and furled his fingers. </p><p>A pang hit Robert’s heart, sharp as a punch. A deluge of words began piling up in his mouth.</p><p>“And here’s some primroses,” Robert said. Urgency made his words run together bumper-to-bumper. “<em>Primula</em>, if I remember. Did you know their name comes from ‘prime’ because they bloom so early? Meg makes tea from them sometimes. It’s not that bad, though I prefer green tea, myself.”</p><p>He brought Victor closer. Victor obeyed. Distantly, as if suddenly half-asleep, he watched the crinkled leaves and puffs of flowers ripple around his knees. </p><p>“I enjoy seeing the pink ones moreso this year than any other,” Robert said. He knelt by the knots of flowers and scooped his hand beneath one of the powder-pink blossoms to tug it loose. The stem popped. Robert spun it between his fingers lightly.</p><p>“Why’s that?” </p><p>“It reminds me of seeing the color come back into your face.” </p><p>Robert angled his hand by Victor’s cheek to gently push a loose shock of tinsel-white hair behind his ear. He tucked the primrose blossom with it. The pale pink clashed against his hair like dawn over a gray lake. Robert’s hand lingered.</p><p>Victor’s attention shifted to something at his right, but his smile went a little lopsided and his flush darkened from coral to rouge. </p><p>“You’re ever-sentimental, Captain.”</p><p>“I’ve every reason to be,” Robert replied fondly. “You bring that out from me, you know.”</p><p>He sidled up to Victor and draped his arm around his neck to draw him along the path. A sea of butter-yellow flowers bobbed in the wind before them. </p><p>“Daffodils,” Robert said. “They call them <em>Narcissus; </em>mythology picked up the name and honored them by telling of the flower that sprung up where Narcissus fell. Every spring I’m eager to see them come back. It’s lovely that they always return, don’t you think? So many others fade away and die, but these wake up and grow with vigor.”</p><p>A silence descended. Even the leaves had stopped rustling. The stillness sent a throng of panic surging through Robert’s nerves. He glanced back. </p><p>Victor’s cheeks had grayed out like a stale cadaver’s. His pinched eyes darkened behind a cold dreary fog.</p><p>Robert stumbled in his tour. “A—And next are bleeding hearts . . . .”</p><p>He trailed off. The colors around him wafted together in a dull haze like city smog. </p><p>“Victor?”</p><p>A grimace passed like a shadow over Victor’s face, as if his stomach were knotting up around the pancakes he’d had. </p><p>“Let’s sit, Captain,” he said. It came out wispy, with a little tremble wobbling in the middle. “I’ve become tired faster than I anticipated.”</p><p>Robert winced. Pityingly, he wrapped his arm around Victor’s waist to keep him upright as they traipsed past the asters and alliums and hyacinths.</p><p>He eased Victor onto the bench and perched beside him, keeping his hand on his side to ensure Victor wouldn’t flop forward into the dirt. The wrought iron was cold and seeped through his breeches to chill his thighs. When he settled back, the bench creaked like a gunshot.</p><p>Flowers riffled around them. A sparrow trilled somewhere overhead. Robert smoothed his hand up and down the slope of Victor’s side.</p><p>Leaves clamored when the wind slipped by. Victor watched something far away on the horizon. His breaths evened back into pace and lost the ragged edge.</p><p>“My heart only fluttered a bit. I’m fine, thank you. Captain—” he shifted tracks with finesse— “do you ever wish other things in life could come back so easily as flowers?”</p><p>Robert looked away. A butterfly clung to a purple hydrangea beside him. Iridescent pastels gleamed off the powdered scales. </p><p>“There are some things.”</p><p>Victor heaved a gusty sigh. “Henry liked daffodils. Some grew right beneath his bedroom window. Every year he’d make such a fuss over them, but he’d never cut any for a vase. Isn’t that strange? I never paid attention when he was here, but now I care more than anything.”</p><p>“I can pull them up,” Robert said quietly. “We can plant forget-me-nots in their place.”</p><p>“It’s all right. I’m fond of them. It’d be terrible to destroy the flowers he would’ve loved.” </p><p>Robert clasped his hand tighter around Victor. A million eloquent consolations and condolences circled through his mind. He lost his way in the silence. </p><p>Victor sighed again. It mingled with the wind. His perfect posture sank into a slouch under his coat, as if he could no longer maintain himself. He tilted his head toward Robert and stalled in a moment’s consideration. Then, yielding, he moved to rest his cheek against Robert’s shoulder. He released the breath he’d been holding. It came out in a little note of contentment, and he melted.</p><p>Robert swallowed. All the pollen and dust of springtime assailed him at once in a whirlwind, choking him up and making his eyes flood hot. It burned like boiling vinegar. He ducked his head impulsively to press his nose into Victor’s hair. It was soft and smelled of orange and clove soap.</p><p>“Captain?”</p><p>Robert hummed a reply, but the sound never came. He nuzzled Victor’s hair.</p><p>“What did you think of me when you found me on the ice?”</p><p>Robert faltered, taken aback. His heartbeat shot into his head, throbbing uncomfortable and low in his ears. Static fuzzed beneath his skin.</p><p>“I . . . thought that heaven had opened up and left you there just so I could take you into my arms.”</p><p>Victor’s puff of a laugh warmed Robert’s collar. “That’s not how I felt.”</p><p>“I know.” Robert blinked hard. It made something rumble in his skull. Victor’s hair tickled against his nose.</p><p>“Did you ever wish you hadn’t brought me in?”</p><p>Robert’s heart seized and dropped, bruising against his ribs on the way. He buried his face in Victor’s hair and clutched him, nearly lifting him off the bench.</p><p>“No. No,” he said fiercely. “Never. If we could turn back time, I’d make the same choice again. I’d have never left you. Nothing could make me resent that.”</p><p>“Mm.” Sleepily, Victor wedged his head further between Robert’s chin and shoulder to stay securely pinned in place. “You’d never resent me? Even though you knew I couldn’t love you?”</p><p>Victor’s soft murmur was dreamy and distant as if he were dozing, but it scorched like an angry slap. Robert flinched. His throat closed up in a merciless vise grip. Helplessly, he wrapped his other arm around Victor to pull him more snugly into his embrace. He was thin. Robert couldn’t hold him tightly enough.</p><p>“I love <em>you</em>,” he said pointedly. </p><p>“I used to love everyone.” A smile slurred his voice. “It’s funny when I remember it. I was carefree and happy, and everyone loved me in return. Growing older is hard, isn’t it, Captain?”</p><p>“Not always.”</p><p>“Don’t you wish you’d known me back then?”</p><p>“I don’t wish for you to be anything different. I don’t feel slighted to know the Victor of today instead of the one from years ago. All that matters to me is that I have you in my arms.”</p><p>Victor lapsed into silence again. Robert leaned back and forth, rocking him the way he’d soothe one of his tearful nieces. Victor reached up to idly play with one of Robert’s coat buttons. He fondled it between his fingers, angling it to reflect the sunlight in little sparks.</p><p>“Have your feelings ever changed in the time you’ve known me?”</p><p>“You’ve got many questions today,” Robert said. A touch of tenderness made his voice taste richer. He brought his hands down Victor’s sides, ironing creases from his coat.</p><p>“That’s gotten me into trouble before.”</p><p>“My feelings haven’t changed, Victor. If anything, they’ve gotten stronger and become larger parts of me with deeper roots. I love you more with every passing day.”</p><p>Victor slid his hand along Robert’s coat to grasp his lapels. He clung to him, squeezing. When his fingers weakened, he pressed his cheek further against Robert’s shoulder, as though fearful he’d be tugged away any minute.</p><p>Robert locked his arms around Victor, clamping him close. His eyes shut. If he could only stay on that bench, surrounded by the syrupy sweetness of flowers, knee-to-knee with Victor and holding him with his face in his hair, he’d want for nothing else in his life.</p><p>The realization sent something flooding through him in a hot, sugary rush that made his hands jitter. The garden pixelated into sequins around him. The ambiance was miles away, muffled on some other world. He and Victor were together. Nothing else mattered.</p><p>“Victor,” Robert said, and it blurted like too much paste from a tube. He floundered. The name was soft and sweet as cake in his mouth. “May . . . may I kiss you?”</p><p>Victor didn’t say yes. He never did. </p><p>Slowly, as though it demanded all his strength, he raised his head. His hair was tousled. With his eyes nearly shut and sunshine making golden dewdrops in his lashes, he inclined his head to accept the kiss. The afternoon glow dazzled behind his head like a halo, and Robert wanted to cry. Maybe for the rest of his life, or maybe forever.</p><p>The kiss never came. Victor cracked open his eyes just enough to peer up at Robert.</p><p>“You don’t have to let me, Victor,” Robert whispered. It ached. “It’s all right.”</p><p>Victor blinked. He held Robert’s gaze for an endless, suffocating minute before looking away. Furrows bunched between his eyebrows. His lips thinned into a line. Finally he released the breath that’d been stewing in his chest.</p><p>The breeze picked up. The green scent of rain was more pungent. Dark clouds clumped in an ornery herd in the farthest corner of the sky.</p><p>Robert leaned back against the bench. The metal dug into his spine. He crossed his legs. Dirt crunched under the soles of his boots. He drew a sharp breath that nearly split his windpipe.</p><p>Welcoming the silence, Victor bumped his head gently against Robert’s shoulder again. He went limp in increments, tension fizzling away to leave him sagging against Robert’s side. He rubbed his cheek there, slower and slower, until he went still. </p><p>Robert’s head was heavy as brass, overstuffed with exhausted thoughts. He rested his head against Victor’s. His hair was warm.</p><p>The primrose still poked from behind Victor’s ear. Robert watched it for a long time. Gingerly, he took it. He held it low at his lap and stared at it, through it, until the pink petals smeared into a haze. When it did, he closed his fist around it to crush it. </p><p>Tucking his arm behind the bench, Robert unfurled his fingers.</p><p>The wind brushed away the crumpled, broken petals. He still felt the softness against his hand.</p>
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